We begin with Jody Watley in backlit silhouette, running her hands through her hair, making sure it’s still there. She will go on to do more hair-fondling than anybody in this countdown (except maybe Cher).

This video is a performance clip, featuring Watley shimmying around a black-and-white op-art set. To spend more of the record company’s money, the director (Brian Grant) frequently deploys split-screen images in various irregular shapes. So we get a horizontal widescreen box of somebody’s hands playing the drums (the percussion we hear is obviously synthesized, but that’s show biz), soon overlaid with a vertical box of the guy connected to the hands, who turns out to be a light-skinned black man with sunglasses and a Kangol-style cap. I believe this is André Cymone, the track’s cowriter and coproducer, former bassist for the Revolution with Prince–and unknown to MTV viewers at the time of this countdown, the secret husband of Watley. (By 1988, pretty much everybody who had ever played with Prince was in demand as a producer, with the possible exception of Doctor Fink.)

More vertical boxes: Watley’s hips, covered in tight black shorts and shaking from side to side; a close-up view of Watley’s lips, covered in bright red lipstick; somebody playing a standup bass (again, clearly not the instrument employed on this track); somebody else hammering out a beat on some congas. We zoom through a three-tier closeup of Watley: her lips, her eyes, and her lips. The placement of these close-ups implies that Watley has a second pair of lips on her forehead and is actually auditioning to be a founding member of the Jim Rose Circus Sideshow.

More full-screen hair fondling makes way to Watley caressing her own breasts. More precisely, she’s running her fingers through the metal ornamentation dangling from the cups on her corset: it looks like she’s carrying a full set of wind chimes on each tit.

We meet another backing musician, who’s sporting a high-top fade (not as extreme as those belonging to Cameo or Kid ‘N Play, but impressive nevertheless). “Can you feel the passion?” Watley asks amidst a series of quick cuts. Unfortunately, I can’t. I’m feeling the “professional piece of craft that’s the fourth single off a surprisingly successful debut album” vibe, but maybe that’s just me.

Every few seconds, Watley changes into a new outfit, although most of them feature the same large hoop earrings. In one shot, she’s sporting a leather jacket that has an oversized portrait of a woman on the back–Watley herself, I think. She keeps her back to the camera for several seconds so we can get a good look at the jacket: maybe she got the record company to pay for it and wants to make sure she’s justifying the expense? More shimmying, including a closeup on Watley’s chest vibrating inside a pink corset. A third musician is introduced to the visual mix, playing electric guitar and wearing a brimmed hat.

The riff kicks in; it sounds like it’s recycled from a Janet Jackson single or some other Minneapolis project. A drummer hits a cymbal covered with talcum powder, which predictably flies everywhere. It’s a shot with visual punch, albeit not as much as the time the J. Geils drummer hit the snare drum filled with milk in the “Love Stinks” “Centerfold” video.

Watley hops around energetically. She dances really well, but appears to be unchoreographed. You’d think they’d want to give her some moves, being a Soul Train dancer and all. (I didn’t know the Watley biography until recently, so here it is: She was the goddaughter of Jackie Wilson and a dancer on Soul Train. Circa 1978, still a teenager, she was recruited for the band Shalamar, along with her dance partner and boyfriend Jeffrey Daniels, who soon spurned her and married Stephanie Mills (star of the Broadway production of The Wiz) instead. Blocked from a larger role in Shalamar by lead singer Howard Hewett, Watley quit in 1984 and moved to England, which is why she appears on “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”)

The director sets up an elegant shot of Watley dancing, framed by a transparent bass drum. “I can’t explain it, how you made me open up / And you showed me things I never thought I’d do,” Watley sings innocently, looking unaware of the raunchiness of her own song. No, wait, in the next shot she’s humping a big white pillar–maybe she does know.

Watley walks sideways through the white pillars, keeping eye contact with the camera, waving her arms around like one of Barker’s Beauties showing off the merchandise. Cut to Watley shot from behind, from the waist up, apparently naked, with her hair flowing down her spine. She’s caressing her own back to simulate the embrace of a lover, the way you used to in eighth grade. Cut back to Barker’s Beauty mode, with more dancing and spinning: Watley tosses her leather jacket aside, and is rewarded by being split-screened into three identical Watleys. (Why didn’t Beyoncé just use split-screen technology with Destiny’s Child and cast three versions of herself? Wouldn’t that have saved her the trouble of interacting with the other group members and periodically firing them?)

More quick cuts, including Watley blowing a kiss, standing on a spiral staircase, shaking her butt, giving love to her hair. The song burbles along pleasantly and forgettably: there’s no hook here as good as “Don’t You Want Me” (which Ted, whose house I watched this countdown at back in 1988, used to sing as “Watley / Jody Watley”). Watley changes into an outfit with a Chanel belt (I can say this with some confidence because of the big white block letters on the belt saying “CHANEL”) and then does the Macarena.

Instrumental break: a rubber-legged saxophonist honks out a rather lame solo, but does a high kick and puts his legs into other improbable positions while he does it. As we head for the fade-out, the video editor does one final around-the-horn loop of Watley’s various outfits, but first includes a new clip: Watley leans up against a mirror, looking chagrined that she can’t slip herself the tongue.

“Some Kind of Lover” hit #10 on the singles charts. You can watch the video here.

posted 10 December 2008 in 1988 and tagged Andre Cymone, Jody Watley. 4 comments